


we grew up at midnight

by cosmicbees



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Dirty Talk, Fluff, Frottage, Love Confessions, M/M, Making Out, Mutual Pining, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Semi-Public Sex, Shower Sex, Sparring, gratuitous use of the word 'baby', post-s7 and we'll just pretend s8 never happened
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-13
Updated: 2019-05-13
Packaged: 2020-03-02 12:43:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18811141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cosmicbees/pseuds/cosmicbees
Summary: shiro wants, and keith has waited long enough“I was sixteen years old and would stand in this shower and wait for you after we sparred and just–God–I used to wonder what it would be like to kiss you.”“Sixteen?” Shiro breathes. He’s equal parts amazed, smitten, and guilty at the thought of Keith having wanted him for so long; he’s incredulous at the thought of Keith wanting him still.Keith murmurs, “I would’ve waited forever.”Shiro lets the silence settle between them again, thick in the steam and heat of the shower. “Would it be okay if I kissed you again?” Shiro finally asks, turning to watch as water snakes over the planes of Keith’s shoulders.“You don’t have to ask.” The hitch of Keith’s breath is audible even over the sound of falling water. “I’d let you. I would give you anything.”





	we grew up at midnight

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sugarcubeshiro](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sugarcubeshiro/gifts).



> for [blue](https://twitter.com/sugarcubeshiro) \- a friend, a fellow capricorn, and without whom this fic wouldn't have been possible
> 
> title from ['grew up at midnight' by the maccabees ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hNskC47LuxA)

“Are you ever going to tell me how you manage to get in here after lights out?”

Shiro leans against the doorway to Keith’s hospital room with his arms crossed over his chest, and shakes his head. Keith sits up straight, scoots over just enough that there’s a little sliver of empty space beside him, and props himself up against the pillows which are piled up high behind him.

Shiro can’t help but laugh at the sight, warmth bubbling up high in his chest. He answers simply, “Absolutely not.”

With a groan of exasperation, Keith’s head falls back against his pillow. After nearly a month in the hospital, Keith still hasn’t been released. He’s much better as far as Shiro can tell, if the late nights the two of them have spent squeezed side by side into Keith’s tiny hospital bed over the last few weeks are any indicator at all.

The first time that Keith asked Shiro to stay had been just a few days into his hospital visit. He’d still been on an IV drip, eyes hardly open and fighting exhaustion when Shiro snuck into his room, cast in hazy shades of moonlight long after dark. Shiro crawled into the tiny bed beside him, pressed together from shoulder to hip in a long line of warmth, the heat from Keith’s skin seeping through his clothing.

Keith fell asleep before Shiro had the chance to turn on the telescreen, propped up on Shiro’s shoulder with his mouth open on a silent sigh.

Tonight though, Shiro doesn’t plan to stay. Instead, his eyes fall to the curve of Keith’s neck, exposed in a long line of ivory white above the collar of his black shirt, and says, “I see they let you take off the hospital gown.”

“I had to _beg_ .” Keith’s moan is dramatic, his words long-suffering, but his eyes still crinkle up on the edges, laughter in his voice. “On my _knees_ and everything.”

A second passes, just a beat of silence where Shiro tries to process the thought of Keith kneeling down with his face tilted up, lids heavy and mouth open on a plea. Shiro blinks the image from behind his eyes, and shakes his head with a short laugh of his own. “I’m sure that was a pretty sight.”

Crimson red overtakes Keith’s cheeks, and, scrubbing a hand across his face to hide the flush, he grumbles, “Shut up, Shiro.”

Shiro watches Keith without speaking for a moment, letting his eyes follow the way the scarlet drains out of his face slowly, but the color somehow still lingers at the tips of Keith’s ears when he reaches down to roll a loose thread on the blanket between his fingers. Finally, Shiro speaks. His voice low and the words conspiratorial when he says, “You wanna get out of here?”

“You can do that?” Keith squints across the room at Shiro. “I don’t think Clay will let me out. That old bag hasn’t even let me go to the bathroom by myself yet.”

“Nurse Clay doesn’t know I’m here,” Shiro shrugs. The truth is that he sneaks in most nights, and has learned the schedule for the nurses’ rounds, artfully dodging them by hiding around corners and peeking down narrow hospital hallways, waiting for a moment of safe passage. He also knows that they’re running out of time to slip out of the hospital wing unnoticed. “Now come on, our window is limited.”

Keith throws his legs over the edge of the bed, swinging down onto the tile and already halfway across the room before he asks, “Where are we going?”

A grin flashes across Shiro’s face. “Are you feeling up to sparring?”

 

***

 

The Garrison’s training rooms are dead silent and absolutely motionless after dark. Not even the dim starlight filtering in through the massive skylights overhead can offset the eerie stillness of the room.

“It’s been a while,” Keith breathes, eyes fixed to the mat in front of them when Shiro flicks the lightswitch on, casting the room in a cool blue glow.

Shiro nods, and looks over to Keith. “For me too.”

He hasn’t been in this room in years, and little has changed since he saw it last. The mats are the same as always; dull, grimey grey with the Galaxy Garrison logo emblazoned in a vibrant orange across them. Keith walks towards the center, just a few steps. The sweatpants that Shiro lent him hang from his hips, and although the drawstring is cinched tight, they still sit low enough that a little sliver of skin peeks out between the waistband and his shirt.

“I didn’t think I’d ever end back up here,” Keith says. It echoes off the walls, although the sound is small and the room seems so much bigger when its just the two of them. “When I got expelled I thought I’d seen the last of this place. Thought I’d seen the last of my future.”

“I’d thought I’d seen the last of mine, too,”  Shiro hums. The words he speaks stick to the back of his throat, rough as he tears them from his chest. “The only reason I lived through Zarkon’s arena was because of this place.”

“What do you mean?” Keith asks.

 _Because of you_ , he doesn’t say.

Nearly a decade before he’d done almost the same thing as he did tonight. He snuck Keith out of his tiny, single dorm room, and dragged him to this same training space long after dark. He dared a nervous, but plucky, sixteen-year-old boy to try and get a good hit in.

Keith did, of course. He always proved himself to be more than Shiro expected–than _anyone_ expected–and when Keith swept his legs out from underneath him in thirty seconds flat, Shiro was knocked breathless in more ways than one.

It was fights like those that taught him to survive as Zarkon’s Champion. He carried Keith’s indomitable spirit with him into the arena, learned to be plucky himself and taught himself how to _live_ when he felt there was nothing to live for. Shiro had to learn to be smarter, faster, _smaller_ , than his opponent in the face of imminent death. Afterward, when the fight had faded from him, he carried Keith’s spirit with him back to the dingey cell he lived in for over a year, and used it to make it through the nights when he wanted anything else but to wake up the next morning.

But Keith, he decides, doesn’t need to know _that_.

“Just learned a lot here,” Shiro says instead.

Keith hums and lets a moment pass before he speaks again. “So how do you wanna do this?”

Shiro hardly thinks on it before he says, “Try and get a good hit in, kid.”

Despite the grin on his face, Keith is slow on his feet and almost clumsy when he lunges for Shiro, who dodges his attack with a quick sidestep, and cant seem to hold back a grin of his own. With a huff, Keith curls his hands into tight fists, watching Shiro from a safe distance, and appraising him from head to toe with furrowed brows.

"You're out of practice," Shiro says. He can't help but tease him, almost likes to get a rise out of Keith, because no matter how much he pretends to not be bothered by Shiro's words, Keith still lets them scrape away at the competitive competitive part of him. Adding fuel to the fire already burning inside.

Shiro did the same thing when they were younger, when Keith barely hit mid-waist on him, but was still just as much of a spitfire then as he is now. He used to pull him out of Iverson's office when Keith was in trouble, would bundle him up after a fight, and with his fingers gripped tight to his shoulder, Shiro would haul Keith onto the mats and tell him to let it out–would tease him for each missed hit just as he would praise him for those blows which landed hardest.

It was as much for Keith to let out pent-up aggression as it was for fun.

They take their time with one another now, each trying their hardest to knock the other off their feet. The smile that creeps across Keith’s face is intoxicating, toothy and bright and so effective at distracting Shiro that Keith's blow catches him by surprise. The hit to his side knocks into Shiro with a force he doesn't expect–a well placed kick that lands in the curve of his waist and which knocks the air out him. He's still able to parry Keith's next blow, and the one after that, but Shiro realizes that however weak the hospital has left Keith, that not even weeks spent bound to a bed can knock the fight out of him.

Born in a desert storm, the child of an alien war empire, Keith was born for this.

But the fight in his spirit, in his bones, in his very blood, can only do so much when Keith is fatigued. He’s too slow to react when Shiro throws himself forward and tackles him to the ground, Keith’s back hitting the mats with a dull _thump_.

The air in Keith’s lungs heaves out of him, pushed out by the impact with a little wheeze. Shiro moves quickly, and pins Keith’s hands over his head while he lays shocked, wheezing beneath him. With his fingers wrapped around Keith’s wrists, Shiro presses just enough that a little gasp slips from the back of Keith’s throat. When he’s held in place like this, Keith looks so vulnerable, almost frail, from his weeks spent confined to a ten by ten room, and for a moment Shiro’s heart drops out of his chest.

“Keith,” he asks, worry in his words. “Are you okay?”

A little sigh slips out of Keith, and he lets his eyes flutter shut, tilting his head back so that his neck is exposed in a long line. “Yeah, it’s just a lot.”

Shiro squeezes Keith’s wrists and Keith sighs again, shifts beneath Shiro just enough that he brushes the inside of Shiro’s thighs where they’re bracketing his waist.

It would be so easy to keep Keith’s hands held over his head, to lean in close and press a kiss to his mouth, parted ever-so-slightly as he puffs out little breaths. Shiro wants to reach out, wants to swipe his finger across the swell of Keith’s bottom lip. He blinks through the impulse, a desire that is new and foreign to him.

“What is?” Shiro asks. Instead of touching, he can talk. That, at least, is safe.

Keith doesn’t answer, but wiggles his fingers in response.

“Shit.” Shiro snatches his hand away and settles back on his heels. He’s wide-eyed and worried as he looks down at Keith, whose head is still tipped back. Keith wasn’t supposed to leave the hospital yet, let alone train like this, and cold panic washes over Shiro when he realizes that he must have accidentally hurt him. “Keith–fuck, I’m so sorry.”

“Shiro,” Keith’s voice is steady as he looks up at him through inky-black lashes, and unbidden warmth seeps through Shiro’s stomach before settling into his hips. “It’s okay. I’m fine, I just–”

“Keith.” Shiro interrupts him, planting his palms on the mat on either side of Keith’s head.  He looks so _good_ , and it hits Shiro right in the center of his chest, settling solid against his heart and knocking the breath out of his lungs. Shiro wants to kiss him still, with Keith splayed out beneath him, panting and soft and _pliant,_ and he can't help but reach out and touch him this time. Following the same impulse from earlier, Shiro settles his palm against Keith's cheek.

The curve of his jaw settles flush along Shiro's hand, and Shiro presses his thumb in just below Keith's lip.

An almost-whine slips out of Keith's mouth, and Shiro can feel the way that Keith's breath hitches beneath him. Keith doesn't say anything though. Instead, he settles a hand of his own along Shiro's waist, fingers splayed out wide just below Shiro’s ribs.

In the blink of an eye, Shiro's world is turned upside down, when Keith uses a surge of momentum to throw Shiro off of him. Swiftly rolling him flat onto his back, Keith throws a leg across Shiro’s body to assume almost the same position that Shiro had held just a moment before.

Self-satisfied, Keith smirks down at him from where he’s perched atop Shiro’s chest.

Shiro can't help but laugh–Keith somehow looks even better like this, the light behind him casting a glowy halo around his head. Shiro smiles back up at him, and mutters, "Good job, Keith."

Keith nods, and leans in close, letting the little smile turn into a full blown grin, smug and content.

He's beautiful like this, happy and proud, and Shiro doesn't think his actions through before he commits. Reaching for Keith at the same time that he surges up to capture Keith’s mouth with his own, Shiro fits his hands to the side of Keith's head and tugs him down so that they’re pressed chest to chest. Keith is still for a moment, motionless with his jaw clenched under Shiro's touch, but it takes little more than a second for him to melt into the touch.

Kissing Keith isn't anything that Shiro had thought it would be–it’s somehow better. He gives in to Shiro with a little hum, reverberating deep enough in his chest that Shiro can feel it against his sternum where they're pressed together, and when Shiro nips at Keith's bottom lip, thumbs pressed into the back of his jaw, Keith parts his mouth obediently.

Shiro breathes out a sigh of his own, diving into the kiss with the kind of enthusiasm that only Keith can pull out of him.

It might not even be a good kiss, he realizes, maybe a moment too late. A bit too sloppy with too much teeth, and clumsy tongues and maybe wetter than Shiro remembers kisses being, but it's been so long since he's kissed anyone–somehow even longer since he kissed someone he cared about–that he doesn't mind. It feels good anyway.

Because it's Keith, he realizes.

It's good because he's kissing Keith, and it’s the sloppy, hungry kind of kiss he hasn't had in years, where it doesn't matter if he's hungry for air as much as he is for the person who is kissing him. Maybe the little sounds that are being pulled out of Shiro’s throat are too desperate, but Keith is electric beneath his touch, alive and warm and just as desperate as he is, and it feels too good to want to stop now.

He never wants to stop.

Shiro lets his hands slip down from Keith's face, sliding across the curve of his back and settling just above his ass, where the dimples of his back sit on either side of his spine. He tucks his fingers just below the waistband of Keith's borrowed sweatpants, just low enough for Shiro to draw a whine out of him.

Keith reaches up to fist his hands in the fabric of Shiro’s shirt, tugging him closer, pressing their bodies tighter together, and licking deeper into his mouth when Shiro gasps. He holds Shiro impossibly close, desperation on his tongue and behind his teeth. Want coloring Keith’s every move.

Eventually Keith dusts his fingers across Shiro’s collarbones, pushing himself up just enough that the connection breaks, and lets his eyes flutter open to look down at Shiro beneath him.

“Shiro,” he says. It’s breathy, his mouth kiss-bitten red and shiny wet.

A chill racks Shiro’s body. His name sounds like a sin and a prayer in Keith's mouth, saccharine sweet and sticky and somehow holy all at once.

It’s hard to breathe like this. Not because Keith’s weight is too heavy against his chest, but because it’s hard to catch his breath when Keith’s mouth was on his only a moment before, and now he’s looking down at Shiro, gaze flickering between his mouth and back up to Shiro’s eyes. Keith looks nervous, almost scared, and he’s breathing heavily too, his eyes wide.

It hits Shiro all at once that he definitely just kissed his best friend without having even given any indicator that he was going to do so. Didn’t even ask him, let alone give a warning

“Keith–shit,” the words fall out of Shiro haphazardly, and his hands snap back from where they’re still tucked into Keith’s pants. “I’m sorry.”

Keith looks down at him, the nervousness on his face melting into an expression of horror in the blink of an eye as he scrambles back, almost tripping over himself in his haste to stand up. “It’s fine!” he chokes, rubbing his palms across the fabric on his thighs. It’s a nervous tick, and one that Shiro hasn’t seen from Keith in years. “Don’t worry about it.”

A beat of silence, and Shiro pulls himself upright, looking up at Keith, and cocking his head. It’s too late, though. Keith has already spun on his heel, bound across the room in a few quick strides, and slammed the door to the locker room behind him.

Shiro sits stunned and motionless as he looks to where Keith had disappeared only a moment before. He lets himself fall back, sprawled out flat, spread eagle on the same god awful orange and grey mats that have lined the floor of the Garrison’s training room since he was a fresh-faced, fifteen-year-old recruit. With his eyes fixed to a stain on the ceiling, Shiro lets out a shuddering breath.

So that happened.

Whatever _that_ was, it’s something he’d like to repeat a thousand times over, for a thousand years more, but Shiro isn’t even sure where it started, let alone where it will end. All he knows is that the nebulous warmth and want that snake between his ribs are familiar to him as they nestle into the space behind his sternum.

It feels a lot like love.

He doesn’t know when it happened. It could have been any number of moments, any of the small smiles shared in the hallways of the Castle of Lions, or feet tucked into the corners of sofas and secrets whispered into the dark of the night.

Maybe, Shiro thinks, he first fell in love with Keith in the dying light of a desert sunset, somewhere on an alien planet in the far reaches of a galaxy that he still doesn’t know the name of. With death laid out before him, creeping slowly into his veins as the blood drained out of them, he’d accepted that, were he to die, he’d like it to be with Keith by his side.

Shiro hadn’t even thought to kiss him before today, though.

A chill runs through Shiro, skittering down his spine as the sweat on his skin cools in the still of the room. It pulls him from his thoughts, and with a groan, Shiro pries himself up from the mats.

The locker room is quiet, save for the sound of water as it ricochets off the tile, echoing around him. Keith’s clothes have been unceremoniously tossed aside, balled up on the edge of one of the wooden benches by the lockers. Shiro strips himself of his sweat-sticky clothes slowly, and folds them neatly, placing them beside Keith’s haphazard stack.

He takes a deep breath in, holding it for a second too long and hoping that the heat of the steam pouring in from the shower room can explain the warmth spreading through his body.

Keith faces the wall, standing with his back to the door when Shiro pads into the shower. His head is buried beneath the stream of water, and Shiro’s eyes follow the little droplets down, down, down as they slide across the smooth muscle of Keith’s back. Showering in a shared space with Keith is something that Shiro has done too many times to count. Before tonight, he’d never thought anything of it. But now, as Shiro redirects his gaze, tearing it away from Keith’s body, he can’t seem to quash down the nervous energy rising in his throat.

The water is unforgiving as it falls from the showerhead, scalding hot when it beats down on Shiro’s back. It’s a welcome distraction from the heat in his veins, and when he finally finds it in him to speak, the words are rough in his throat.

“I’m sorry.”

Keith is quiet for a moment, and the silence stretches long and tenuous between them. Shiro holds his breath and waits for Keith to respond. “Don’t be. Everybody makes mistakes, Shiro.”

Shiro blinks, and lets the air leak out of his lungs in a slow exhale.

“We don’t have to talk about it.” Keith’s voice is thick.

The sound of water fills the silence between them again before Shiro says, “I didn’t think it was a mistake, Keith.”

“Oh.”

 “Whatever else you think, don’t think that it was a mistake for me.” Shiro clarifies, keeping his eyes fixed to a crack in the tile by his feet, toe nudging nervously at the fracture. “I kissed you because I wanted to.”

 A bitter little laugh tumbles out of Keith. “You can’t just–god, Shiro. You can’t just say that.”

Shiro hums inquisitively, a question without words. He can’t bring himself to turn around and look at Keith though, however much the desire burns inside of him.

“It’s not important.” Keith mumbles, sounding smaller than Shiro has ever heard him.

“It’s important to me,” Shiro says, “if it’s important to you.”

The same laugh as before bubbles up from Keith, just as disbelieving as it was the first time. “I’ve just wanted for you to say that for so long. What am I supposed to do now, Shiro?”

Shiro finally spares a glance over his shoulder. Keith is still facing the wall, but his head is tilted back now, letting the spray of the water wash over his face. Shiro asks, “To say what?”

“I’ve wanted to kiss you for so long, Shiro. So long,” Keith says, and the words sound like they’re being dragged out from deep within him, tired and rough around the edges. “It’s fucking embarrassing.”

“What do you mean?”

Keith finally looks over his shoulder too, turning just enough that Shiro can see the red rimming his eyes. “Shiro. You have to have known.”

Shiro blinks. “Known what?”

“Fuck,” a sigh slips out of Keith, “I was sixteen years old and would stand in this shower  and wait for you after we sparred and just–God–I used to wonder what it would be like to kiss you.”

“Sixteen?” Shiro breathes. He’s equal parts amazed, smitten, and _guilty_ at the thought of Keith having wanted him for so long; he’s incredulous at the thought of Keith wanting him still.

Keith murmurs, “I would’ve waited forever.”

Shiro lets the silence settle between them again, thick in the steam and heat of the shower. “Would it be okay if I kissed you again?” Shiro finally asks, turning to watch as water snakes over the planes of Keith’s shoulders.

“You don’t have to ask.” The hitch of Keith’s breath is audible even over the sound of falling water. “I’d let you. I would give you anything.”

“Yeah?”

An affirmation slips out of Keith, and Shiro crosses the little space between them, shoulders squared and chin held high. Keith watches him with caution in his eyes, looking his part like a deer caught in the headlights. He’s wet, soaked through, with dark hair hanging limp in his eyes, and Shiro reaches a gentle hand out, brushing it from Keith’s face before settling a hand on the side of his neck, nudging Keith’s chin up so that their eyes meet

Shiro can’t help the little laugh that punches its way out of his lungs, breaking the silence between them as he brushes his thumb over the swell of Keith’s bottom lip disbelievingly. “I could have kissed you years ago,” he mutters.

Keith nods, and dips his head to press a kiss against Shiro’s palm.

“Can’t believe I didn’t think of it sooner,” Shiro says, wonder in his words.

“It’s ‘kay.” Keith’s words are muffled against wet skin. “Already said I’d wait forever.”

Shiro’s other hand settles on the opposite side of Keith’s face, and he presses his fingers into the tender spot just behind Keith’s jaw, watching as Keith’s eyes flutter shut and he turns his face toward Shiro. “What if I don’t want to keep you waiting?”

“Even better.”

Shiro takes a moment to savor the warmth of Keith’s pulse beneath his fingertips, quick, but steady in his hands. He’s hot to the touch despite the goosebumps raised in little pinpricks across his arms, and Shiro wants to draw him close, to wrap him up in the warmth of shared body heat and skin on skin. After a long while, Keith’s eyes peek open, and he squints up at Shiro.

“What happened to not keeping me waiting?” he asks.

Shiro snorts out a laugh. “You’re impatient, huh?”

The answering whine he receives is breathless, Keith barely letting the words grow louder than a whisper when he says, “Shiro, I’ve never kissed anyone before tonight.”

_Oh._

“Oh,” Shiro sighs, pulling Keith’s chin up with a press of his thumbs to the hollow just beneath his chin. “Keith. Never?”

Keith tries to duck his head, but Shiro’s palms, pressed to the side of his neck, keep him held in place. “There wasn’t anyone worth kissing after you left.”

Shiro leans in close enough that he can see the little smattering of freckles on Keith’s face, close enough that he could count each of them, one by one, given time. “No one?”

Two hands wrap tight around Shiro’s wrists. Keith squeezes once, twice, and says, “Who else would it be? It’s always been you, Shiro.”

Shiro’s heart skips a beat, and he closes the distance between the two of them, hands sliding up to settle on the sides of Keith’s face. He brushes his lips against Keith’s, just a ghost of a touch, and Keith’s eyes glaze over, breath caught in the back of his throat.

“Just you,” Keith mumbles against Shiro’s mouth, pressing himself up on to his tiptoes to slot their mouths together properly, wet from falling water and want.

And God, does Shiro _want._

The smallest noise slips from the back of Keith’s throat when he parts his lips to Shiro’s–it’s weak, bordering on a whine, and Shiro holds Keith’s head in place, tilting it so that he can lick deeper, more thoroughly into Keith’s mouth. Keith lets Shiro take, and take, and _take_ until Keith’s pressed back against the cool tile wall, Shiro swallowing his gasp with a grin.

Breathless, Keith lets Shiro trail his mouth down across his cheek, to the soft spot on the underside of his jaw when he huffs Shiro’s name out, fingers digging into Shiro’s’ shoulders hard enough to leave an outline in the shape of his hands across Shiro’s skin.

“Keith,” Shiro leans back, looking down at Keith, who looks back up at him through heavy lashes, lips pink and kiss-swollen. He resists the urge to haul Keith back in close, and asks instead, “Is this okay?”

Keith nods as his eyes fall shut again, and he lets out a shuddering sigh. “More than okay.”

“You sure?” Shiro leans in to press a kiss to Keith’s forehead.

“Already told you I’d give you anything you wanted.”

“I know.” A low chuckle rumbles in Shiro’s chest. “But what do _you_ want, Keith?”

Keith doesn’t hesitate. “Kiss me again.”

Shiro smiles, and leans in and does just that, keeping the kiss short and sweet, despite Keith’s best effort to keep them pressed chest to chest. When he pulls away, Keith chases after him. “Anything else?”

“Can–fuck,” A wave of scarlet washes across Keith’s face and down his chest, “can I touch you?”

“You’re already touching me.” Shiro smirks, tilting his head so that his cheek is pressed to the top of one of Keith’s hands where it’s still clutched tight to his right shoulder.

Keith shoves at him, but doesn’t let go, letting Shiro bury a fit of laughter into Keith’s knuckles while he furrows his brows in a poor imitation of a scowl. “You know what I mean.”

Shiro does, but Keith starts to squirm when Shiro trails one of his hands down to the point of Keith’s hip and presses his thumb into the bone there. He takes a moment to marvel at the way that Keith’s breath hitches when Shiro’s other hand drifts down to settle opposite the first, and he squeezes just enough that it draws a hiss out of Keith. “I kinda wanna hear you say it, though.”

“Shiro.” Keith finally lets his own hands slide down from Shiro’s shoulders, and settles them across his chest instead, fingers spread wide across the slick skin. “We’re in a public locker room.”

“Lights out was nearly two hours ago,” Shiro counters. “Besides, do you know how many times I’ve jerked off in this shower?”

“You did not,” Keith hisses, eyes wide in surprise. “ _Shiro_ , that’s so gross.”

“Are you trying to tell me you never did?” Shiro leans in to settle his mouth next to Keith’s ear, keeping his voice low while he rubs circles into Keith’s hips with his thumbs. “I thought you used to stand in this shower and think about kissing me. You never thought about anything else?”

“I didn’t say that! It’s just–”

“Come on, baby,” Shiro murmurs, one hand drifting from Keith’s hip, down the trail of dark hair that sits low on his stomach. “What else did you think about?”

Keith swallows, voice pitched high when he says, “Baby?”

Fingers combing through the coarse hair at the base of Keith’s cock, Shiro repeats the word. “Baby,” falling out of his mouth before he wraps his hand around Keith’s length, words hardly audible over the falling water. “Tell me what you thought about.”

“Wanted you to kiss me,” Keith responds finally, eyes fixed to Shiro's own determinedly. “I thought about how you’d be able take what you wanted and I’d give you anything if you asked for it.”

Shiro draws his hand up until Keith’s cockhead peeks out from his fist. “Is that all?”

“No.” Keith shakes his head, and thumbs at one of Shiro’s nipples until the sensation makes him draw a sharp breath in. “Your hands were–fuck, Shiro, your hands are so big, I wondered what they’d feel like on my body. I wanted so badly to know what they’d feel like wrapped around my cock.”

Shiro obliges, squeezes just a bit tighter on the downstroke, and Keith leans forward, tucking his face into Shiro’s shoulder. The red burning bright across Keith’s face also burns hot against Shiro’s skin.

“What else?” Shiro struggles to keep his voice steady as he urges Keith on, their bodies pressed close to one another.

“Wanted to feel your fingers inside of me, as many as you’d give me, Shiro–God.” Keith hisses as Shiro twists his wrist back up Keith’s length, and swipes his thumb over the precome gathering on the head of Keith’s cock.

“I’d give you all of them, baby,” Shiro says, breath catching in the back of his throat, and he stills his hand where it’s wrapped around Keith’s cock, letting him fuck into the heat of his palm as best he can. “However many of them you wanted.”

“We–ah, we used to spar,” Keith’s words are short, punctuated by little gasps, “and after I pinned you I would go back to my bunk and, fuck, I’d think about what it would be like to ride you.”

“I’d let you.” Shiro’s words are gentle, but drip with filth around the edges. Keith holds tight to him, face still pressed to Shiro’s skin, hidden from sight. But Shiro tilts his head so that his mouth brushes against Keith’s ear. With Keith pressed this close to him, whining into his collarbone and working his hips up into Shiro’s fist like the absolute embodiment of every one of Shiro’s wet dreams, Shiro can’t help but lose himself to it. “Shit, Keith, I’d let you keep me pinned to the mat in the training room. Wanna see you get yourself ready for me, fuck yourself on your fingers until you’re sloppy, begging for cock because no matter how hard you try, your hands aren’t enough.”

Keith gasps again, and it’s the most breathtaking thing Shiro’s ever seen. He’s flushed and huffing little breaths out between each sentence while he squirms under Shiro’s touch, and Shiro wants nothing more than to pull him to the edge. To drag him over and watch Keith break into little pieces beneath his touch. He says as much, his words quiet when he breathes, “You’re beautiful, baby.”

“ _Shiro_.” Keith wrenches back suddenly, and his face twists for a moment. There’s an edge to his words when he speaks, nervous and almost frantic as he grabs at Shiro’s face, angling it down. “Hang on.”  

Shiro stills his movement and moves his hand back to Keith’s hip instead. Keith squeezes his eyes shut, keeping them closed even as he holds tight to Shiro.

“Hey,” Shiro murmurs, taking Keith’s face in his own hands. He presses his thumbs into the corner of Keith’s eyes until they peek open, red rimmed and worried as they search Shiro’s face. “Talk to me, Keith.”

Keith shakes his head. “It’s stupid.”

“Nothing you say is stupid,” Shiro murmurs, stroking his thumbs along Keith’s cheekbones.

“This is just … a lot,” Keith admits. He has the same expression now that he had on the training mats earlier, scared and tense while he watches Shiro for a reaction. “And I’m nervous, and I’m just–I’m scared that it doesn’t mean anything to you.”

“Oh, Keith.” Shiro struggles to respond, unsure of how to tell Keith how wrong he is. He wouldn’t know where to start, or how express exactly how much it _does_ mean to him.

“It’s okay if it doesn’t!” Keith’s words are rushed, but the tears welling up in the corners of his eyes betray the truth of his words. “It’s okay, honestly. I’ve just loved you for so long, and I’m–”

Shiro cuts Keith off by kissing him. It’s firm and quick, and just enough to shock him in to silence. Shiro waits a moment, watching Keith for a reaction before speaking himself. “You love me?”

“Don’t say it like that.” Keith whines, anxiety shrouding his face.

“But you love me,” Shiro says again.

Keith nods. He’s still watching Shiro nervously. “Yeah.”

A laugh pushes its way out of Shiro, bordering on giddy. “I love you, too.”

Keith watches him for a moment, searching Shiro’s face before he speaks. “You don’t have to, you know?” He tilts his chin up in a challenge, but finally slides his hands down, settling them on the small of Shiro’s back instead.

“Have I ever lied to you, Keith?”

Face contorted into what is almost a caricature of thoughtfulness as he pretends to consider Shiro’s question, Keith lets a second pass before he answers, “No.”

Keith is _so_ brave–he always has been, following Shiro across the universe to distant planets orbiting ancient stars, but this is one thing he shouldn’t have to try and find the courage for. Combing his fingers through Keith’s hair, Shiro says, “It’s okay to be nervous.”

Keith gives a little nod, but doesn’t speak. Instead he tugs Shiro back in with a jerky motion, settling one hand on the back of Shiro’s neck as he pushes himself up onto his tiptoes. Leaning in, Keith kisses Shiro, his mouth open and hungry.

Shiro could die a happy man right now, with Keith’s body pressed to his, slick from the water falling down on the pair of them, and Keith licking into Shiro's mouth again. Deep and needy and overeager, as Shiro lets Keith take what _he_ wants this time. Keith’s palms settle just below Shiro’s ribs, and Shiro sighs into the touch, letting Keith explore his muscles and scars with a feather light touch.

It’s probably weird, Shiro realizes, to kiss your best friend of nearly ten years in the shower of a community locker room at the military boarding school you recruited him to at age sixteen. It’s even weirder to not want to stop, because nothing ever feels like it’s actually weird when he’s with Keith. Nothing ever feels wrong.

It always just feels right, comfortable and good.

Like home, almost.

"Is this still okay?" Keith asks, trailing his hand down Shiro's chest, dragging his fingers across the sharp cut of Shiro's hipbone. Both of his palms settle hot against Shiro's skin, just a few inches off from where Shiro’s cock rests heavy against his thigh.

"Yes," Shiro breathes.

Keith reaches down to take Shiro in hand, and strokes his thumb nervously across the head. "I'm sorry, I–um. I don't know what to do."

Shiro hums and cocks his head in question.

"I've just … " Keith is nervous again, worrying his lower lip between his teeth as his eyes dart down to the wet tile. "I've never done this. I mean–I have with myself, but like … I've never done _this_ before."

"Keith, baby." Shiro lifts Keith's chin up between his forefinger and thumb. "It's okay."

Squinting at Shiro disbelievingly, there’s a quaver in Keith’s voice when he says, "you promise?"

Shiro nods, and locks eyes with Keith. "Just touch me how you'd touch yourself."

Keith sighs, a bit of the tension in his shoulders relaxing, and he drags his hand up the length of Shiro's cock, slow and loose, just the ghost of a touch. Repeating the motion a few times, Keith keeps it slow, teasing; hardly enough to take the edge off, and Shiro hisses when Keith squeezes the base and twists his hand on the upstroke.

Pausing just beneath the crown of Shiro’s cock, Keith presses his thumb into the slit on the head. "Is this okay?" he asks, nervous at the sound he pulls from Shiro.

"Yeah," Shiro nods, and braces himself against the wall, palm pressed flat to the tile beside Keith's head. “Do you know what I want?”

Keith shakes his head, wide eyed when he looks up and says, “Tell me.”

"Want this," Shiro murmurs, leaning in to laugh into Keith's ear. It's a low, breathy thing when he mutters, "Want you."

"You already have me," Keith assures him, tugging at Shiro's cock again. "You've always had me."

Shiro groans, deep in the back of his throat, and wraps the palm not pressed against the wall around Keith's cock, the weight of it heavy and heady in his hand.

Keith sighs, looking up to Shiro through his eyelashes.

"I want to feel you," Shiro says, moving his hand from the wall to Keith's ass, tugging him in close so that they're almost pressed together, hip to hip as Shiro covers Keith’s hand with his own.

A low whine drags out of the back of Keith’s throat when Shiro rolls his hips, just enough that their cocks drag against one another. Keith bites out a rough, “ _Fuck_.”

“Come on,” Shiro coaxes. The wet heat of the water washing over them lulls him into comfort, sweet across his his skin but heavy in his gut.

Leaning forward so that his cheek is pressed into the curve of Shiro’s his shoulder, Keith pants against his skin, breath sticky hot against Shiro’s collarbone. The noises that slip out of him are intoxicating, and he lets Shiro guide his hand up, up, up over the both of them, to the heads of their cocks, and back down again in a swift motion.

Keith chokes out Shiro’s name, half hidden by the fall of water and muffled into his neck.

“Sorry,” Shiro mutters. Keith definitely deserves better for his first time than sloppy handjobs traded under the spray of a locker room shower. “This isn’t very romantic, is it?”

“No.” Keith barks out a rough laugh, but he rocks up into their joined hands again anyway. “It’s not.”

“I’ll make it up to you sometime.” Shiro tangles his fingers into the hair at the back of Keith’s head and tugs until Keith is looking up at him through heavy eyes.

He will, if Keith will let him.

Keith hums in question and blinks slow, unable or unwilling to keep his eyes open for long.

“I’ll make it so good for you, baby,” Shiro murmurs, leaning close enough that his lips touch Keith’s forehead, brushing gently against the soft wet skin.

A dull spark of challenge lights up behind Keith’s heavy eyelids. He smiles weakly, but goads Shiro on anyway, “How are you gonna do that?”

“I’ll get you into a proper bath,” Shiro says, stilling the pull of his hand where it’s fisted around their cocks. “I’ll let you sit in my lap and I’ll play with your cock ‘til you’re so hard it hurts–until you’re begging me to fuck you.”

The beginnings of a crimson flush dusts across Keith’s cheeks, but he keeps his chin tilted up defiantly, brave once again.

“But I still won’t fuck you, no matter how bad you want it, baby.” The little groan that slips out of Keith as he blinks slowly pushes Shiro onward. “I’ll lay you out on my bed while you’re soft and begging for it, and I’ll spread you open. Fuck–I bet you have the prettiest ass.”

Eyes dropping to the floor, Keith whines, “ _Shiro._ ”

“I wanna taste you, Keith.” Shiro knows he’s close himself, can feel the heat building low in his gut. It’s hunger, and it’s an unspeakable, unnameable need. He wants to _know_ Keith, in a way that no one one else ever has. “I bet you taste so good, Keith. I’ll eat you out until you’re crying if you let me, baby, trying to fuck yourself on my mouth … but I’ll hold you down, take my time with you, won’t–” Shiro can’t hold back the groan that crawls out of his chest, his eyelids slipping shut for a moment, “–won’t let you come until I’ve decided you’ve had enough.”

Keith breathes Shiro’s name again. It’s a question, and his voice is colored by desperation, but he keeps his eyes locked on Shiro’s.

“You’ve always been so good, Keith.” Shiro’s voice softens, and he thumbs at the head of Keith’s cock again, stroking over it with each word, treating the touch like a reward. Keith’s movements have grown erratic under Shiro’s touch, and the thrusts of his hips are shallow and uneven. “You wouldn’t come until I asked you to, would you?”

“No.” Keith shakes his head. “No, I’ll be good.”

“You’ll wait so patiently,” Shiro murmurs, “and when I finally let you come, I’ll clean you up with my mouth, too. Fuck, you’re the only thing I ever wanna taste again, baby.”

“Shiro,” Keith’s voice is rough, eyes wild. “Please.”

“Yeah,” Shiro says. He needs it just as bad as Keith does, the thread of desire at the bottom of his stomach pulled taut like a rubber band, just waiting to snap. “Can you come for me, Keith? I wanna watch you come, baby.”

Keith bites back a noise that sounds close to a sob when Shiro moves his hand again, pulling his fist down the length of his and Keith’s cocks. His hips stutter into the touch and that’s all it takes before Keith comes with a whine, Shiro’s fingers working over him, moving in time to the roll of his hips and matching each weak thrust with a twist of his hand.

The fingers still tangled in the back of Keith’s hair tighten for just a moment when Shiro follows suit, spilling warm over where his and Keith’s hands are joined. A little moan sounds from Keith when Shiro tugs, but a moment later, Shiro hauls him in close, slotting their mouths together haphazardly.

Mouths moving together lazily, what they share is hardly a kiss. It’s mostly shared breath and a swipe of Keith’s tongue against his own, and when Shiro presses the pad of his thumb against Keith’s cock, Keith turns his head, huffing into Shiro’s ear. “Fuck.”

Shiro nods absently, and lets go of their softening cocks, pulling Keith’s hand up to his mouth. He pushes the whole of Keith’s middle finger, sticky with come, between his lips before Keith can process the action.

“Shiro!” Keith hisses, eyes wide while he tries to pull his hand out of Shiro’s grip. “Don’t be gross.”

Shiro makes a noise in objection, his own grip tightening around Keith’s palm as he laves his tongue over Keith’s finger, pushing a second digit in alongside the first. He licks them clean before pulling Keith’s fingers out with a wet pop, dragging the flat of his tongue down Keith’s palm before murmuring, “Told you I wanted to see what you taste like,” into his wrist.

“You’re disgusting!” Keith groans, but it’s almost a laugh, and a little smile curls up the corner of his mouth, although his cheeks are tinted scarlet red.

“That wasn’t what you said a few minutes ago.” Shiro can’t hold back a grin of his own, and he leans in for another kiss with the taste of Keith lingering on his lips. Keith wrinkles his nose, but gives in to Shiro’s pull with only a sigh.

“Can’t believe this,” he mumbles into Shiro’s mouth. “Can’t believe _you_.”

“Can’t believe I’m allowed to have this,” Shiro responds simply, brushing his nose across the curve of Keith’s face until his lips fit snug to Keith’s temple.

Keith’s shoulders shake under Shiro’s touch, and for a second, Shiro is afraid that Keith is crying again. He quickly realizes, though, that Keith is laughing, eyes squeezed shut tight and little puffs of air coming from between his teeth. Shiro huffs out a laugh of his own, pulling back far enough to look down at Keith, who smiles up at him.

“This is dumb,” Keith says, reaching up so that he can push Shiro’s hair out from in front of his eyes. “This is all I’ve ever wanted for so long.”

Happiness dances through Shiro when he asks, “Messy community-shower handjobs in the Garrison locker rooms?”

Keith’s nose wrinkles again, but he buries his face in Shiro’s neck, letting the warm water wash them clean. A moment passes where the only sound is the rough breaths pulled from their lungs, and the dull roar of the showers.

“No,” Keith answers simply. “Just you.”

 

***

 

They make it back to the medical wing of the Garrison unscathed, deftly avoiding the officers on duty that patrol the halls after lights-out, and, somehow, all the nurses as well. When they stumble back into Keith’s little room, it’s kiss-drunk and giggly, with Shiro’s hands on Keith’s hips, pressing kisses into the side of his head.

Keith turns around when he reaches his bed, and wraps his arms around Shiro’s neck, leaning in to mouth at his jaw.

 _God_ , Shiro is in love.

In love with the same boy who hotwired his car, who carved out a little piece of his heart, and believed Shiro was alive when no one else did. He loves the man who chased him to far away galaxies almost too many times to count, that admitted his love aloud with a knife to his throat. Who still held on to Shiro as they fell to their deaths.

“I love you,” Keith says, sitting back on the bed and pulling Shiro in close, legs spread wide to slot him into the space between his thighs.

“I know,” Shiro murmurs, stroking his thumbs across Keith’s cheeks, the skin soft beneath his touch. “I love you too, baby.” He sighs, leaning down to capture Keith’s mouth in another kiss. “Keith. Baby. _Fuck_.”

Keith answers with a sigh of his own.

“Can I call you that?” Shiro murmurs, moving his lips to Keith’s temple. “Baby?”

Keith tugs him in closer, fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt. “Stay with me,” he says in lieu of a response, chin tilted up.

Shiro hadn’t planned to stay.

He had every intention of sneaking Keith out for a training session, and sneaking him back before returning to his own quarters. But tonight, Keith looks up at him with wide eyes, and at least a few dozen freckles smattered across his nose, and Shiro can’t help but smile into the kiss that follows.

Keith’s hospital bed is still far too small for the two of them, but that never stopped them before. Shiro clambers onto the mattress beside Keith, and, tucking himself into Shiro’s side, Keith pulls the blanket up over the pair of them, trapping the heat of their still shower-warm skin beneath the covers.

“Hey.” Shiro angles his head so that he’s looking down at Keith, whose eyes are tilted up to meet his own. “Is this okay?”

Keith squints up at him, and nuzzles his face into Shiro’s chest instead of answering, letting his eyes fall closed with a little sigh. He doesn’t say anything, simply hums an acknowledgement instead.

Moonlight filters in through the window and falls across the bed, soft and blue as it lulls them both to sleep. When Keith speaks, the words are muffled into the skin and bone of Shiro’s sternum, so quiet that they’re almost lost to the night.

“ _Baby_.”

**Author's Note:**

> lets assume shiro's arm is waterproof haha
> 
>  
> 
> come say hey @cosmicbeebees on [twitter](https://twitter.com/cosmicbeebees)


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